


The Visitor

by Ghostwriter (Zoya_Zalan)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, POV First Person, Pre-Slash If You Squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya_Zalan/pseuds/Ghostwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy Palmer has dinner with the Mallards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All things NCIS belong to D. P. Bellisario et al; I'm just borrowing. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Acknowledgements: Many thanks to bluster and Carol for their insightful beta comments! I've done some additional tweaking, so any mistakes in the final draft are entirely my own.
> 
> My intention was to write a bit of humor, but it wound up being a somber look into the mind of an Alzheimer's sufferer. Written in July 2005.

~ * ~ * ~

Even though I hear the dogs begin to make a fuss, I'm still surprised when the doorbell rings. We weren't expecting visitors until Sunday. My Donald answers the bell promptly, such a good boy, but I don't recognize the young man who enters. He's very tall, and his face seems strangely familiar. "Donald!" I scold, shuffling forward. I have to shout to make myself heard over the din. "Why wasn't I told we were having a party?" I'm his mother! Of all the people to leave off the guest list.

"Mother, this is Jimmy Palmer — my assistant at work. I told you he was coming for dinner, remember? All right boys and girls, that's enough!" he announces, clapping his hands at the dogs. They settle immediately.

"My, aren't you a handsome one," I coo, reaching up to pinch the young man's cheek. His smile is so endearing.

"Mother."

"Do you like to play croquet? I'm sure Miles wouldn't mind setting up the wickets, and we have such a large, beautiful yard..."

"Mother!"

Ah, I know that face. My boy is so handsome; it's a shame he can't find a pretty girl of his own. "Yes?"

"Jimmy is here to have dinner with us; why don't we move to the dining room?"

Jimmy? I turn, noticing the tall young man standing in front of me. "Jimmy!" I can barely contain my joy. "Shame on you for not visiting your grandmother in so long! Why, I can't even remember the last time you were here!"

Why is Donald rubbing his temples? Does his head hurt again? "Come along, Mother," he says, taking me by the arm and directing me toward the dining area. Something smells wonderful.

"Did Beatrice make roast beef?"

"Mother, Beatrice hasn't been with us in a very long time."

He's so patient with me. "Who's working in the kitchen?"

"I made dinner tonight."

I cringe, stopping. "Did you use butter? You know I hate it when you use bacon fat."

He sighs at the disdain in my voice. "I use canola oil."

"I don't like that either—" Something just moved behind me! Twisting around, I see a tall young man standing there. "Who are you?" I demand, raising my cane defensively.

"Jimmy Palmer, ma'am. Your son's assistant?" he offers politely, trying hard not to step on Tyson and Contessa, who are both right at his feet.

Assistant indeed! I know what an assistant looks like, and he surely isn't one. He's most definitely up to no good. "How did you get in here?"

The young man looks confused. "Uh..."

"I invited him for dinner, Mother," Donald explains. "Now, why don't we go have something to eat?"

"But, I've already eaten!"

"No, you haven't, and neither have we."

"I don't trust him, Donald!" I whisper, keeping my eyes peeled for any sudden moves. The young man's smile is far too cherubic — he must be hiding something!

"Now, now — everything is just fine." Donald pats my arm and leads me down the hall.

Why was I so upset again? There are savory aromas wafting from the kitchen, making me salivate. I am rather hungry.

"Here we are," Donald tells me as we enter the dining area. The dogs follow us in, each taking up his or her respective place along the wall. Donald pulls out a chair for me — so polite, he is — and helps me get settled. "Mr. Palmer," he says, gesturing to a tall young man who seems to have appeared from nowhere, "why don't you sit here. I've got a bit of work left in the kitchen; I'll only be a few minutes. Why don't you two get better acquainted?"

My eyes narrow as the stranger takes a seat across the table from me. We are alone now, which unsettles me deeply. "Who are you," I hiss, "and what do you want?"

His smile fades slightly. "I'm Jimmy Palmer, Mrs. Mallard. Your son invited me."

"How do you know my name?" Good, he looks rather flustered.

"Well... I... sort of guessed you would be Mrs. Mallard, since Dr. Mallard's name is Mallard, and... uh... you're his mother. Right?"

I blink, setting my jaw. I know this ploy. He's trying to confuse me, believing that I'll be more vulnerable that way. Well, I'll have none of that! "I have a knife in my brassiere," I assert calmly, "and I shall use it if you try to look down my dress." Tyson growls in agreement.

The young man swallows audibly, his gaze flicking back and forth between the kitchen entrance and the dogs.

Aha! So, he _is_ here to seduce me! These gigolos are all alike. "I know exactly what you are," I continue, glaring at him. "You'll not get away with it either!"

Donald comes through the doorway then and lays several hot plates down on the table.

The young man smiles. "May I help you with anything, Dr. Mallard?" he asks eagerly. He looks ready to bounce right off his seat.

"Oh, no! Guests aren't allowed to do anything here but enjoy themselves."

"Are you sure? I'm really more than happy to—"

"Relax, Mr. Palmer," Donald tells him before disappearing into the kitchen again.

The young man looks at me once more, and I can see wariness in his eyes. "I'll be watching you," I whisper threateningly.

Donald whisks back into the room, carrying a large platter. "Dinner is served!"

Roast beef with roast potatoes! Oh, and he's prepared Yorkshire pudding and fresh broccoli too — my, but my Donald can cook! It all smells so heavenly...

Setting a large glass filled with an odd brownish mixture and a straw in front of me, Donald smiles. "And here is your portion, Mother."

"Why must I eat this foul rubbish? You never serve me real food!"

"Oh, it's very real, my dear. You know it's much better for you this way," he consoles, patting my shoulder before taking his seat. "Actually, it reminds me of a meal I was served in the wilds of Tibet back in '72. The tribal leader was most accommodating..."

Donald's narrative fades into the background as I stare at the unpalatable slop I've been given. It's just not fair at all. I miss individual flavors relished one by one. Instead, Donald tells me I must drink my meals. It's all rubbish, I say!

"That's really fascinating, Doctor."

The strange voice startles me, and I look up sharply. Who is that sitting across from me? He's young, with a bright, attentive face, but I don't recognize him at all. He's probably a gigolo — why do they keep coming here? At least I convinced the last one to move the commode to its rightful place. Or was it the one before the last?

"Yes, yes," Donald continues, gesturing pointedly with his fork, "and the entire village saw fit to bless our pack animals before we left, which, of course, was really quite shocking considering the circumstances..."

Why, the young man is ignoring me completely! Whoever heard of such a discourteous gigolo? He's listening to my Donald with rapt attention, his expression filled with wonderment and... something else. Cocking my head, I watch him curiously. His eyes are a bit glazed, and there's an ever-present smile on his face even while he chews. His gaze is slightly hypnotic as he focuses entirely on Donald. Why, he seems almost... enamored...

I gasp, my eyes widening. Heavens, this is no gigolo at all! It's much worse than that — he's a creature of evil! What does one call those who assume human form to prey upon men and women, to seduce and then ravage for their own twisted pleasure?

An _incubus_!

And Donald has already fallen under his spell, welcoming him into our home and _feeding_ him too! Well, I'll not stand by and let that happen. "YOU!" I bellow, pointing at the macabre creature wearing an innocent's face. "I know what you are!" A chorus of growls emanates from the side of the room. Such good dogs they are, looking after me.

"Be nice, Mother! This is our guest."

"My Donald is a world traveler," I spit, giving the creature my best evil eye. "He is no wide-eyed innocent!"

"Mother, please calm down!"

I continue vehemently, "He's hiked the jungles of Peru and explored the Great Barrier Reef! He cannot be fooled by you!"

"Mother!"

The creature squirms uncomfortably, looking back to Donald. "You've really been to the Great Barrier Reef, Dr. Mallard?" he asks, trying to sway the conversation away from my discovery.

Donald takes the cue, much to my dismay, pinning me with one last warning glance before beginning his explanation. "Actually, I accompanied a friend of mine, an ichthyologist who was there to study the mating habits of the panther grouper and the fascinating sex reversal capabilities of genera Epinephelus."

"Sex reversal?" That _would_ interest such a vile creature!

"Oh, yes, and it was really quite the adventure too, especially when the blue sharks finally appeared and began circling..."

Poised for battle, I wait a few minutes, watching. The creature is completely enamored of my Donald, batting his eyelashes and being wholly attentive to each and every word spoken. The scene is terribly disturbing. Finally, I can stand it no longer. Leaning down, I draw in a straw-full of puréed roast beef and potatoes, and then I fire away, my aim remarkably precise.

Donald is on his feet in a instant, chiding me harshly. He's really quite angry, but I will deal with that in due time. "Out, demon spawn!" I snarl, pointing toward the entryway. "You will never seduce my Donald!"

The creature gets up and stumbles back a few steps. The dogs surround him instantly, growling and barking in my defense. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else, Mrs. Mallard—"

"Out!"

"MOTHER!"

"Maybe I should come back another time..."

I can't tell by his expression whether the incubus is genuinely frightened or on the verge of laughter. "OUT!" I yell once more, rapping my cane on the floor for emphasis.

"Yes, ma'am!"

Donald is already on the move, following the creature and the dogs out of the room. I listen with satisfaction to the chaos that ensues. Slowly, I make my way across the dining area and into the hall where I see the dogs have already been banished to the den. The front door is open, and Donald is speaking softly.

"I'm terribly sorry, Jimmy; I'm not sure what's come over her tonight."

The creature smiles, his whole face brightening. "It's all right, Dr. Mallard. I wasn't really trying to seduce you or anything."

Much to my surprise, Donald grins, but before he can say anything, the creature continues speaking.

"I mean, if I were _trying_ to seduce you, I would have done things.... a lot... differently," he finishes slowly, gulping as my Donald's eyebrows rise. "Um..."

That's my cue. "OUT!" I yell again, startling them both.

"Mother, please!"

The creature flees then, shouting, "I'll see you Monday, Dr. Mallard!" over his shoulder.

"We must try dinner again sometime!" Donald calls back, waving. Taking a deep breath, he closes the door, no doubt preparing to deliver a lecture, but when he turns and walks toward me, all he says is, "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

I stand my ground, feeling slightly put out. "Why, that fiend was very dangerous, Donald. He was trying to corrupt you! I did what I had to do."

"Yes, I suppose you did." He chuckles, gathering me into a hug. "And thanks to you, my virtue is safe once more."

I hug him tightly. "I wish you would find a pretty girl of your own, Donald."

"I'm sure I'll find... _someone_ eventually," he responds. "Now, why don't we go finish our dinner, hmm?"

I am rather hungry. "Has Beatrice cooked something for us?"

Donald sighs, taking my hand in his and leading me down the hall. "Shall we find out?"

~ * ~ finis ~ * ~


End file.
